


Pretty Lies

by BlueAlmond



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Identity Porn, M/M, Mild Smut, Some Humor, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueAlmond/pseuds/BlueAlmond
Summary: When Bruce saw Clark Kent, investigative reporter of the Daily Planet, clearly working on the same case as he was while doing a poor impression of someone drunk in a club, he asked for patience and pondered his next curse of action. Including him in his plan was not complicated. It was almost helpful.He couldn’t throw away his opportunity to learn a little bit more about Clark Kent, could he? It was a once in a lifetime thing. So, once outside, after the repoter had said: "I'm Clark.", he went and shook the offered hand. “Rob.”





	Pretty Lies

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading and writing about these two for years, and for some reason I never finished anything. I feel accomplished. Enjoy!

It had nothing to do with Superman at first.

When he first got into the club, his only concern had been finding out more about the new drug that was slowly but surely spreading out all around the East Coast, nothing more. If he went undercover—with added lines to his face, brown contact lens, brown wig—it was only because Bruce Wayne was way too easily recognizable and had no business in a common club in Metropolis on a Friday night. The only person who knew this was, of course, Alfred. No one else needed to know about it. He worked alone. Sure, he had cooperated with some of the other heroes of the zone a few times in the past, but they weren’t a team, and he never had given any of them a way to contact him, so maybe they knew about the drug, maybe they didn’t, but he certainly didn’t need them and honestly didn’t care much if they did. He knew that if he gave them a way to contact them, some of them—Superman, in particular—would have told him a bunch of stuff about themselves willingly, probably expecting him to reciprocate, but he couldn’t risk that much. He paid enough attention to see if he was ever truly needed, and he had his own means to contact any of them if _he_ ever found himself in way over his head as if to ask for help, which didn’t exactly happen often. Besides, he didn’t need anyone to tell him anything to find out who Superman and his friends were when they weren’t fighting crime, running and flying around in spandex.

So when he saw Clark Kent, investigative reporter of the _Daily_ _Planet_ , clearly working on the same case as he was while doing a poor impression of someone drunk in a club, he asked for patience and pondered his next curse of action. He _could_ just let the guy be, but if he alerted the thugs that someone was onto them, they might get more careful and that would only be inconvenient for him. He decided he could intervene while he was still relatively out of trouble, so he went and sat down on the stool closest to him and ordered a drink he knew he wouldn’t touch, only for the guy to stand up pretty much that right second, gaze fixed on a shady-looking man coming out of a door in the back. Still, that guy had the benefit of not needing to be subtle, whereas the little bulletproof reporter should seriously take some lessons. When he made a straight line for the man with a determined look on his face, Bruce could barely believe it, but he didn’t waste time trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He knew he hadn’t been the only one noticing the way the guy who was supposed to be drunk was now very sober and paying too much attention to one big fish in the operation. Bruce recognized him from his files. He was supposedly the one smuggling the drugs into the continent. Someone more naïve might think that by stopping him, surely the drug problem would be over, and he was starting to believe that Superman was, in fact, naïve enough to believe such a thing. He already had put all the guards on edge. If he managed to talk to the guy, or even worse, if he managed to get the guy out of the picture, weeks of work would be lost. Whoever the supplier was would get a different smuggler in a different harbor and Bruce would have to start over.

It had stopped being a matter of helping out someone who was almost his colleague, and it became a matter of protecting his own investigation. But he had to move and think of something fast. The first thing was finding a way to speak with Superman far enough from the guards to tell him that he was fucking up. Then he would figure out _how_ he would tell him that he was fucking up. But first, making sure he didn’t get himself shot at for no reason at all. How hard could it be? They were at an LGTB+ friendly club, and the reporter hadn’t paid any attention to him when he sat down by his side. Maybe he could try to get him to dance, or invite him a drink, or engage in conversation long enough to lose the shady guy to the back of the building once again.

Well, it turned out none of those things worked, and getting him out of trouble was resulting to not be as easy as he thought it would be. The guy was stubborn and wouldn’t take the hint, no matter how much Bruce widened his eyes or tried to take him the other way. Eventually, he managed to get the guy into the bathroom by getting an entire tray of drinks over both of them, and once he made sure no one was around, and that there were no bugs in the place, he folded his arms over his chest and glared at him.

Superman misread his anger and frowned as well. “Hey, it was your fault we ended up soaked like this!”

“I’m a cop,” he lied. “I’m also investigating the drug ring. And you were about to get caught over there, buddy.”

Superman narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t think the police knew about it. They certainly told me to fuck off when I tried to get an interview.”

“That was probably the Metropolis police, I’m sure. But I’m from Gotham. If you want, call the commissioner. He’ll tell you it’s all true.” He had already given Gordon big part of what he had gathered in the Narrows, and he knew he could trust the guy to lie for him on the spot. He was good at that.

“I wasn’t going to get caught.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow and simply stared at him.

“Do you really think so?”

Bruce nodded.

Superman sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking completely defeated. “I just really don’t like working undercover. I can do it, most of the time, but these guys… this is a part I don’t like to play.”

“That’s your excuse for doing it poorly?”

Now he looked like a kicked puppy that wanted to be angry but didn’t quite manage. “I… yeah, I guess.”

Bruce sighed. He could cooperate with others, he just didn’t like it. It was unnecessarily troublesome. But he could do it. “You mentioned an interview. Are you a reporter?”

Superman nodded.

“Alright, so this is what we’re going to do.” The guards were already interested on whatever his fixation with their boss had been. If he just left with some other guy, they would probably forget it, but they would most likely talk about it, because it had been weird. Besides, he knew Superman wouldn’t just go with nothing. He would probably pretend to go, to ease the cop’s mind, and then would be back with another shitty plan and fuck up everything, so Bruce had to get him something. And he was there as well, he had been there looking for something, and maybe he could share. It was Superman, after all, though he had to be careful. A cop wouldn’t just give everything he got on an ongoing investigation to a reporter he just met, but maybe if he was careless enough to let the guy read some stuff over his shoulder with that x-ray vision of his, he would leave peacefully.

It wasn’t that hard to modify his initial plan to fit in another person. In fact, Clark Kent’s ridiculous power walk on the dance floor helped a little bit.

“Do I really have to?” asked Superman miserably after Bruce told him what he had to do.

“It’s our best shot. And you got to admit that you got yourself into this mess.”

Superman groaned. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.” He took a deep breath, squeezed Bruce’s shoulder, and nodded. “I’ll do it. Wish me luck. And you better hurry.”

Bruce nodded. He just had to wait a little bit until everyone got distracted with the little show Superman was about to throw. He watched him go while he planned his route in his mind. There were three guards who were the key for him to get away, and two were close enough to the boss that they would probably focus on that as soon as Superman started yelling. The other one though, that one would need something a little bit more scandalous to get his attention picked.

“Hey, you’re the asshole who broke Jimmy’s heart, aren’t you?” yelled Superman, surprisingly loud.

The owner of the club had been ready for a fight since he saw him approaching again, but after that, confusion slipped into his face and he had to ask: “What?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember you from one of his pictures.” Bruce had to admit, his drunk slur didn’t sound so fake anymore. “Yeah, you’re probably him. The guy who told him he would never make it. But guess what? He’s a great photographer now, and he works for a big newspaper! He travels the world! He’s awesome!”

The two guards closest to the boss were more than engaged with Superman’s act. The third still wasn’t, but he was starting to.

“Look man, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t know no Jimmy. You’re mistaken.”

“No, no, no, I remember you from the pictures! He still has that one big picture, where he’s with a guy that looks like you, with the hair and the nose and the—wait,” he grabbed his right hand, but the guy quickly freed himself and pushed Clark back, who managed to stumble backwards a few steps. “Huh. I’m pretty sure you had a tattoo there.”

With that, the third guy moved close enough to the scene for Bruce to slip into the back. He could still hear most of the argument, which meant if he wasn’t careful, they could hear him as well. Still, he was just a tiny bit grateful for it. The show was quite entertaining, after all. But he found the laptop he’d been expecting to find and focused on copying everything into his USB key, while outside, the scandal just kept surprising everyone around them. If he just could see, he would probably arch his eyebrows in disbelief.

The boss was extremely irritated, glaring at the huge drunk dork. “That’s because I’m not the guy you think I am! Jeez, get this guy—”

“Oh, fuck man, I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. Look, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s just that Jimmy still cries about this guy whenever he gets drunk, and today he should’ve been so happy but he wasn’t because that son of a bitch wasn’t there and I just, it just pisses me off, you know? But you’re not him. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck and exchanged a look with some of his guards, who had been ready to toss him out. He sighed. “Maybe it’s just that you’ve had too many drinks for one night, don’t you think?”

“My girlfriend dumped me.”

“What?”

“I asked her to marry me, and she said she couldn’t be with me anymore.” He sobbed and rubbed his eyes with his forearm. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I just want to keep drinking, you know? I think that if I drink some more I might be able to forget her, you know?”

“Oh, man… yeah, of course, you look like a good guy. Why’d she dump someone like you? She’s probably nuts. Relax. Go back to the bar, get some water…”

“Thank you. You’re a good person, sir.”

Bruce was leaving the back just then, and he had to suppress a snort when he noticed most of the people surrounding them were wearing pitiful looks. He had to give it to him; at least he could act when he had a good plan to follow. Now it was his turn.

“Man, I leave you alone for two minutes to use the bathroom and you do exactly what I told you not to? I told you he wasn’t the guy from the picture. That one was at least a foot shorter!”

“It’s okay,” replied the boss, wearing an apologetic expression. “He didn’t bother me. He’s clearly having a rough time right now.”

Bruce sighed. “Yeah… maybe drinking wasn’t the best idea. I’m going to take him home.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Good luck. And hey man, forget about the bitch. She doesn’t deserve you.”

Superman sniffed. “No, maybe I was going too fast, I don’t know.” He shook his head and made a show of losing his balance, so Bruce had to slip an arm around his middle. “But thank you, and sorry I mistook you for that asshole.”

“It’s okay. It happens.”

Bruce nodded with a sheepish smile and dragged Superman out of there.

“Thanks for that,” said he once they were safe and sound outside and they were sure no one would follow them. He extended his hand. “I’m Clark.”

Bruce couldn’t throw away his opportunity to learn a little bit more about Clark Kent, could he? It was a once in a lifetime thing. He quickly shook the offered hand. “Rob.”

“I’m starving. What do you say I buy you a burger to thank you for all that?”

Not half an hour later, the two of them were sitting face to face on a fast food restaurant, with drinks and food in front of them and Bruce’s laptop on the table while he checked what he had acquired from the club. The alien in front of him just happened to carry his own external hard drive with him, so he had asked to get at least something for his article, since he’d been a vital part of Bruce’s plan. He didn’t care to dignify that nonsense with an answer. As a cop, he couldn’t just give evidence to a reporter of an ongoing investigation, and he ought to drive him away from it. But as a fellow vigilante, he could spare a thing or two to slip by if he made it look like an accident, like not noticing the Trojan in the external device that as soon as he plugged in tried to copy everything in his laptop. Logically, all the security he had installed stopped it from getting anything aside from a couple of files he kept for that exact sort of thing, and he manually transferred him enough that he could realize the guys at the bar weren’t important enough to make any progress by getting rid of them. It didn’t take him long to sort all that out; his food didn’t even get cold. And after that, he could finally gather some intel on the man of steel himself.

And it was weird, to interact with Superman like that. He always figured that the alien had to put on a show to be among humans, but after a couple of minutes of mindless chatter, he started to suspect that maybe it was whenever he was floating and smirking in front of cameras that he had to act. He seemed to be authentically nice, with a surprisingly dark sense of humor, and impeccable manners—not of someone used to luxury, but of someone that had been simply raised right; raised to be kind and thoughtful.

Still, all that education didn’t keep him from being an intrusive pain in the ass.

“Aren’t you going to take that?” asked Clark, giving him an inquisitive look after Bruce’s phone rang for the third time that evening, loudly rattling against the table.

Well, he was out with an investigative reporter after all, wasn’t he? He sighed and shook his head, slipping his phone in his pocket. “No.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but…”

“But?”

Clark shrugged one shoulder and took a long sip of his milkshake. “Contact lists are always the same, easy to read. People usually write from where they know someone, so they don’t forget, especially with common names like Jimmy or Harvey… when it’s just the name, it’s because the contact is someone close, someone you could never confuse with someone else. And yet, you are ignoring whoever that guy is, who is probably close to you. Why is that?”

He’d been dropping pretty lies for almost two hours. He figured he could throw one ugly truth out there. “He was close to me. That ended a couple of months ago, and not in the best of terms. He’s deep in the closet and is planning to stay there.”

“Oh. Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was expecting, to be honest, but it wasn’t that.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “It’s okay.” It was weird, actually, to interact with anyone like that. He just wasn’t used to that. Normally, he was Bruce Wayne, who had to be always mindful of the gossip columnists and all of his secrets—and other people’s secrets that he was forced to keep as well. But here he wasn’t. “I just don’t want to deal with his crap anymore. He ought to get another idiot for emotional support. I told him that much when we broke up.”

Clark nodded. “It’s only fair. Still, I’m sorry I forced you to talk about it.”

“You didn’t. I didn’t have to answer if I hadn’t wanted to.” He fished some cash out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “Well, I got to go. I have work in the morning.”

“In Gotham?”

“Yeah.” Bruce for once found that he almost broke character right there. He just didn’t know what to make of Superman biting his bottom lip, looking all nervous and troubled. “Why?”

“I was just wondering… could it be possible to have your number? Just in case I find anything else.”

Bruce arched one eyebrow. “Just in case?” He smirked. “Sure.” There was no harm in giving him one of his unlisted numbers. He had those for situations like these, after all. Besides, he looked like an inherently cooperative guy, so it could be beneficial if he did find something else, something that he might have slipped.

Still, he honestly wasn’t expecting Superman to call him anytime soon, and it was mostly a coincidence that he answered at all, because he had time while he waited for a meeting at the Wayne Tower. Otherwise, he might have ignored the unknown number that had been redirected to his personal phone through the cave’s computer.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, I was in Gotham and I was wondering if we could get together?_ ”

“Do you have anything new on that case?”

“ _Oh, eh… yeah, sure, I do. When can we meet?_ ”

He confirmed, once again, that when he didn’t have a plan to follow, Superman was not a good liar. But Bruce was one, and he didn’t mind indulging him if it meant learning a little bit more about Clark Kent, the bulletproof farm boy from Kansas.

They met around two in a crappy diner where the sticky bottle of ketchup was almost empty, the sugar crystalized, and the salt tempered, and Superman looked as comfortable as one could get. On Bruce’s part, when his hand brushed against the table and got wet, he kept a straight face. Obviously, he’d had worse, but thanks to Alfred it was hard for him to be relaxed eating on a surface that was anything less than immaculate. Really, it was all Alfred’s fault.

Still, the reporter kept him distracted enough that he stopped caring. The conversation was entertaining and demanded his attention with how quickly it moved from one topic to another. For a moment he worried he was in some sort of test, but judging by Clark’s excited expression, he was just getting carried away for talking to someone that could follow his Kryptonian train of thought. Bruce felt useful, and that made him… happy. It was oddly endearing. And after they ate and drank coffee, the farmer’s reluctance to leave only seemed to increase that trait, which should’ve been ridiculous, but it wasn’t. Thus, he ended up inviting him over to _Rob_ ’s place, which he was very grateful he had previously thought of, even if it hadn’t been with the possibility of Superman visiting in mind. Another thing that hadn’t been a concern of his while choosing that particular apartment had been the bed, because he never thought he’d have to use it for anything other than an emergency, and definitely never expected to get thrown on top of it by a superpowered alien who apparently didn’t mind to show off a little of his super strength when it came to getting laid with another guy, but at least the thing didn’t break.

“Can I suck you?” asked the reporter hoarsely.

The one thing that could make such an act even sexier was to have a guy who could lift a building on top of his head asking for his consent. He nodded and folded one arm beneath his head, since no actual pillows seemed to be near enough to grasp, and wondered if, given more resistance, he would’ve gotten him to say please. He certainly knew that if Superman kept the speed he was currently using he would be the one begging. He arched his back, both as an assistance and as a suggestion.

Arching one eyebrow, Clark sent him a cocky look and said: “Impatient, aren’t you?” He slid his pants off anyway. “Relax. Good things take time.”

“Well, someone is very confident in his skills,” slurred Bruce. “You better not disappoint me, Mr. Kent.”

“Oh, I won’t.” He bit Bruce’s hip and slid one finger underneath the waistline of his boxers. “I promise, officer.”

Bruce was about to challenge him further, but his words got stuck in his throat when Clark lapped at his cock through the fabric. He gripped the reporter’s hair with his free hand and hummed. “Yeah?” He spread his legs further, planting his feet firmly on the bed.

“Yeah, you just got to be patient,” he straightened shortly to take off his own shirt with a smirk, “sir.”

That hadn’t been what he had in mind when he thought about learning a little bit more about Clark Kent, but he wouldn’t complain while those hands and tongue were wrapped around him. Bruce wasn’t one to beg. He just filled him with praise and tangled his fingers in the reporter’s hair, pushing and pulling perhaps a little too strong, but he couldn’t help it when he knew the man could take it. And yet, the whole act made him realize that he couldn’t think of Clark Kent as anything other than human, even when he knew he could shoot laser from his eyes, because for about an hour, all he cared about were the things he could do with his skin and limbs. For about an hour, his heart seemed to be beating just as fast and loud as Bruce’s, his breath just as agitated, his cock just as hard, and he knew, he knew what he was doing would definitely have consequences, _bad_ consequences, terrible consequences, but he couldn’t have stopped, couldn’t even regret it, and he would forever know what sounds and face made Superman when he came.

“My train leaves in an hour,” mumbled Clark, after a minute or two in very needed silence.

Bruce had to clear his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t be all raspy. “We’re not that far from the train station. You can take a shower if you want.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that…” he straightened and stretched his arms over his head. “You don’t want to join me?”

“I’m afraid that could cause you to miss your train, so no.”

Clark’s pout was so adorable that he just had to kiss it away, which only meant they lost even more time and the reporter almost didn’t have enough to shower.

“Call me if you ever come to Metropolis,” he said on his way to the door.

Bruce hummed and pulled him close by the front of his shirt. “Sure.” He joined their lips in a short kiss. “Have a safe trip.”

In the back of his mind, he knew that seeing him again under his Rob’s disguise wouldn’t be wise. He had learnt quite a lot, and he could consider the reconnaissance mission to be over. And yet, he also knew that if he found a good excuse to go to Metropolis soon, he definitely would call him. He didn’t get laid as much as his reputation suggested, and usually he didn’t mind. He knew that if he really craved for someone else’s touch in his dick he could get it without much trouble. But this was different. It was different, and not only because, as Rob, he wasn’t one of the most desired bachelors in the country, but because investigative reporter Clark Kent didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who could be swayed by such a title. It was different because there was a special kind of excitement in the seduction when it wasn’t as simple as smiling. It was different, and Bruce wanted to do it again. So of course that by the end of that week he had flawless excuses for Bruce Wayne’s absence and Rob’s appearance, and he purposefully ignored all of Alfred’s side-glances while he made all the arrangements. Still, he didn’t have the nerve to call the guy with Alfred there. No, he left the call for the last minute, once he was already there.

Superman answered by the second ring.

“ _Rob?_ ”

“You told me to call you if I ever came to Metropolis. Well, I’m here. Are you busy?”

By the sounds he got from the other end of the line, Bruce deduced he probably had been, but that was not the answer he got, and he had no intention of arguing. Arguing could’ve kept away the teeth that scrapped at his jaw and the hands that caressed his thighs, and Bruce would be damned if he ever did anything to keep those away.

He couldn’t stay the night because no matter how high tech his lenses were, he still was not supposed to sleep with them on, and he had no way of explaining why a grown man liked to wear colored lenses that weren’t even optical. But of course, he had the perfect excuse for him to need to go, an unpostponable one, so the one thing that almost ruined him was his own reluctance to leaving. He hadn’t been expecting that, but he should’ve, because Clark’s apartment was definitely nicer than Rob’s, his bed softer, and Clark’s words and hands were just as alluring as they’d been in the past. Not just alluring, but irresistible. He knew he’d be going back to them. He knew it like he knew the earth was round and that Joker spent more in makeup than in bullets.

And because he knew it, he tried his best to stay away. He tried because he was getting himself into something he could never fix, guaranteeing a painful heartbreak for both of them, and it wasn’t fair. He tried, and he almost succeeded.

He didn’t see Superman for the next two weeks, and when he finally saw him again it wasn’t as pleasurable as the last time. First, it wasn’t pleasurable because he was in full Batman regalia and couldn’t push him against a wall and ravish him like he would’ve liked. And second, he was bleeding copiously and on the verge of the destruction of four city blocks and a political disaster. Then again, if the situation hadn’t been as bad, he probably wouldn’t have called him, which wouldn’t have mattered much because interacting with him as Batman had absolutely no implications on his relationship with ‘Rob’.

He gritted his teeth before pushing the button that would send the signal. He knew it was his best choice, that ultimately when it came to ponder the pros and cons it was the _only_ choice, but that didn’t mean he wanted to do it or that he felt comfortable with it. He was never good at asking for help. Alfred was always too quick to criticize him for that.

In under two minutes, Superman was by his side wearing a mildly concerned expression. “Batman? Are you hurt? You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine. I just called you because there’s a bomb up in the roof.” His next intake of breath was sharp. The wound in his side was deeper than what he’d first thought.

“Got it.”

“Wait. It can’t blow. Don’t do anything stupid like, throwing it up in the sky or something. Bring it to me.”

Superman looked like he thought Batman was crazy, but before he could argue, Bruce added: “I’ll deactivate it. Trust me. I can’t get to it from here, but I can deactivate it if you bring it to me.” He didn’t have enough time to explain the importance of the artifacts attached to the bomb, he just needed him to trust him; and for a second, he worried that he wouldn’t. But then, half a second later, he was dumping the bomb in his lap.

“You sure you can do it?”

Bruce didn’t care to dignify that with an answer and focused on his work. It was a complicated thing, full of distractors; fake wires, even a couple of mirrors and several pieces of plastic attached that were only there to confuse whoever might try to deactivate it. But Bruce wasn’t anybody; he was Batman, and they only delayed him about ten seconds. Sure, there was another powerful distraction that also delayed him another ten seconds.

That distraction being, Superman’s stare.

Having Superman stare at him like that, keeping his distance, acting all… otherworldly, when he knew it was nothing but an act—an act that made him uncomfortable, also! —made Bruce reconsider the benefits of his current association with the other heroes. He didn’t question his initial arguments, but time and experience had changed the game, he had more intel, and maybe it was time to approach them more directly. Maybe it was time to give it a go to team work. Sort of.

He finished with the bomb and didn’t brush off Superman’s offered hand to stand up. He could hear the sirens in the distance but didn’t worry. He still had time to leave, and the situation had been fixed. He swallowed hard and pretended to study the view from the window, which he knew by heart. “I guess it’s not fair that I can call you whenever I want, and you can’t do the same.”

Superman tilted his head to the side, but otherwise, he stayed uncomfortably still, floating about a foot from the floor. “It’s not that hard to find you, most nights.”

“I can imagine. But you still have to go and look. Just…” he threw him a small device which Superman grabbed in the air more out of instinct than anything, “there. If you ever wish to contact me, just press that button.”

“Thank you, Batman.”

He was the one that should be thanking him, not the other way around. “It’s only fair.”

“You sure you don’t want any help with that? I could cauterize the wound, at least.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. Just go before the police gets here.” He noticed his error one second too late, by the way Superman’s expression shifted slightly. He could see that Clark was battling with himself, and Bruce was only able to breathe once he was sure the rationality in him won and got him out of there, not wanting to risk an interaction with ‘Rob’ in uniform.

He then considered before moving. ‘Rob’s apartment was in fact, closer than the Tumbler, and he had a twisted ankle that would surely appreciate the shortcut for treatment. It was late, and Batman was done for the night, so why not go there? Superman was already gone, and Bruce needed to take care of his wounded side. Rob’s apartment had everything he needed, so he went there.

He wasn’t embarrassed that he knew exactly how long it would take Superman to get to Metropolis from Gotham. That was the sort of intel that could save his life—had, in fact, probably saved him that night, thus he didn’t mind his distracted thoughts once he was done stitching himself up and staring at his empty fridge, sure that the other hero had probably eaten already, if nothing kept him busy. That was why he was so surprised when he received a text from him.

‘ _Hey, I’m in town. Wanna have takeout in your couch?_ ’

That perhaps wouldn’t be the best idea, considering Bruce was having some trouble with his side and had a twisted ankle, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse either. Superman had left over an hour ago. Had he stayed around, or was it just that after his visit he couldn’t get the possibilities out of his head? Not that there were many, with him injured like that. But Rob was a cop; he could get injured on the job, right?

‘ _Chinese. Got to warn you, I got a little roughed up in a chase earlier today. The doctor’s prescription is a lot of rest. I’m not going to be much fun._ ’

‘ _I wouldn’t mind playing nurse with you_ _😉_ ‘

Bruce rolled his eyes but… He was lucky he was already there, because Superman clearly had only been waiting for his acceptance to ring the bell. It was ridiculous, and maybe a more cynic Bruce—or a less infatuated, that is—would’ve found it pathetic, but the smile on his face told a different story. At least as Batman he hadn’t limped. Just for that, he almost thanked Superman’s eidetic memory. Most of the time, he envied it. His was good, Bruce had always been good with details, but what would he give to be able to remember everything perfectly the way Superman did. For example, he had thought he remembered the feeling of Superman’s hands on him, the texture of his tongue, the shape of his teeth, perfectly, and whereas he hadn’t been _wrong_ … well, simple memories could never compare to having the real thing with him kissing him hello there on the front door, mindful of the injuries Bruce hadn’t elaborated on, following him at whatever pace Bruce picked.

“You okay?” asked Bruce after they had already ordered some food and were sitting side by side. He would’ve thought the guy would be just a tiny bit happier, considering the advance in his and Batman’s association, but he looked… rather gloomy, instead.

“Yeah, I just… there’s a guy I occasionally work with and I just… I can’t figure him out. It frustrates me.” He sighed and lied back on the couch, pressing their shoulders together. “I’m glad you’re here. Would you mind if I just, close my eyes for a minute, before the food arrives? I’m tired.”

“No, of course. Don’t worry. I’ll wake you.”

“Thanks,” a yawn cut his speech in half, and soon enough, the guy was sleeping soundly.

That one gesture told Bruce way more than what he wanted to know. It was overwhelming, knowing that Superman was so relaxed with him that he didn’t hesitate before falling asleep on his shoulder. And maybe that was a bad thing. He should probably view it as the liability that it truly was, Superman’s nature; how easy he would trust anybody, but it was hard to think of a countermeasure for it with him so close. He had tried to stay away, and he wanted to tell himself that he would keep trying, but he knew that he’d be lying, and he had no intention of lying to himself about that. He didn’t care about keeping pretenses about it, when after that he worked hard to get an entire weekend in Metropolis and then found himself having Clark on his doorstep every other Friday. At that point, there was no time or place for pretenses, not even for Alfred, who stopped warning him about the consequences and simply conformed with staring at him with pity, sure that it would all go to hell soon enough, just like Bruce. He was sure of it, and he’d be damned if he wasted more than a minute in premature sorrow. There would be time for that later. There would be plenty of it. But he wouldn’t regret anything until it was all said and done.

Or so he thought. In the end, guilt started consuming him a little earlier than that, one Sunday morning. Their eight Sunday morning.

“I’m just so comfortable with you, Rob,” muttered Clark. They had finished their breakfast there, sitting on the couch, just a moment earlier. “I’m always surrounded by people who are constantly deceiving others, keeping secrets, lying their way through their day, but you… you never do that. You’re always so blatant and open and I… you make me want to be open with you.”

Oh, shit. He cleared his throat and tried to grin sardonically. “You make reporters sound awful, you know?”

Clark shook his head. “You’re not wrong, but I’m not only talking about reporters,” he licked his lips and took a small pause, apparently gathering some nerve. Then, he took off his glasses, ran a hand through his hair and raised until he was floating in the middle of his living room. “I’m also talking about superheroes, because Rob, I am one. I’m Superman.”

And maybe that had been the perfect moment for Bruce to stand up and confess all of his sins. Because maybe Clark would’ve been hurt, but until then, he had been keeping secrets too, he had to understand. He probably would have, after all, because he was so damn forgiving and nice, and he would’ve appreciated the honesty for what it meant, even if he’d only been following his example.

But Bruce would never know, because he was a coward, and he didn’t say a goddamn thing.

He was lucky his silence was interpreted as shock for the news, and eventually, after he decided that he could drown in self-loath once he was all alone, he allowed a smile to appear on his face. “Thank you for telling me this,” he whispered for some reason, “it means a lot that you could trust me with something so important.”

Clark—because it was Clark, even with the different hairstyle and the missing glasses and the whole levitating thing, he still looked like the kind, trusting, extremely nice and ingenuous Clark—shrugged one shoulder and scratched the back of his head, looking all nervous even when he had no right to look that way. He was perhaps the strongest person on the planet, who had melted Bruce’s heart with as much ease as he melted metal with his heat vision, and dared to act as if he was some naïve farm boy who could get his heart broken with just one word from a normal guy—because he thought Bruce, _Rob_ , was just a normal guy—sitting on his couch?

“I do trust you, but it’s not just that. It’s not just that I feel with the liberty to do it, which I do, but also that lying to you, keeping one side of me hidden was starting to kill me, because I… I love you, Rob.”

Now, that was a lot of information to throw at a person in one afternoon, wasn’t it? What was the politically correct thing to do? Was running out of the question?

“I know it’s a lot to take right now, but I…” he chuckled lightly under his breath, “I don’t know, I guess once you start telling truths you can’t stop, you know?”

Bruce _didn’t_ know, and he clearly had no intention of checking by himself either. He swallowed and started giggling himself, because clearly, he had lost it. He ran a hand through his damn brown wig and barely kept himself under enough control to not burst out laughing. He was such a bastard, throwing lie after lie, making Superman an addict to those. And maybe he needed his next fix. Who was Bruce at this point to deny him? He was trapped.

Clark said he loved Rob, and Bruce liked Clark too much to pinch that bubble. At this point, there would be nothing left after he told the truth, so he might as well keep going until it all blew up tremendously in his face, right?

Right.

He was certain that this would be his downfall, but maybe it would be worth it, if only for the view.

“You know me, Clark. Just… what did you say I was? Blatant and open?” he snorted. “Yeah… I’ll be damned,” he whispered and shook his head, but he got more comfortable on the couch, stretching his right leg over it, “but I think I might love you too.”

Bruce quickly concluded that the main difference between the Clark he’d been seeing before, who had been hiding half of himself, and this new honest Clark, was his speed, because he was on top of him in an instant, showering his face with kisses he knew he didn’t deserve, but accepted anyway because he was selfish and greedy like that. But who could blame him? If he had turned Superman into an addict to his lies, he himself had turned into an addict as well, but an addict to Superman’s kisses and hands and words. He was addicted to wrapping his arms, hands and mouth around Superman’s body. He’d grown addicted to the heat of his presence and the heat of his stares and the heat that grew in himself as soon as their eyes met.

He knew that it was a recipe for disaster; only a matter of time for it all to blow up spectacularly. Still, he honestly thought he would have a little longer. But in the end, he only had ten days. Ten days after Clark told him he loved him. Ten days in which they only saw each other once. No more than ten days, and it was all Scarecrow’s fault.

It wasn’t common for the deranged doctor to attack in the middle of the day, but Bruce should’ve been prepared for it. He certainly had containment plans for such a thing, in a normal day for Bruce Wayne.

The problem was that he hadn’t ben dressed as Bruce Wayne when it all started. No. He’d been caught between Superman’s arms, resting on the bed with a tube of chips by his side and the TV whispering some predictable movie they had stopped pretending to watch in order to joke about Luthor’s latest failure, half naked with their legs tangled together, when all chaos went loose.

If Superman found it weird that his cop boyfriend jumped into action the minute he told him what he was hearing, he didn’t show, but he probably didn’t. What Superman described was clearly people under the effects of fear-gas in a nearby bank, and maybe Bruce should’ve sent him on his way to help while he got his fake badge and contacted Gordon but he was supposed to be on his day off and before he could really think it through he had told Superman to take him there and the hero hadn’t questioned it, flying them both to the scene before Bruce could even consider grabbing his cell phone. It all went downhill from there.

By the time they reached the scene, Scarecrow was nowhere to be seen, but the people that had been in the bank were all in different states of panic and there were still a few goons keeping them in line, wearing masks and guns and stopping the three officers that had arrived first, who didn’t seem to be under the effects of fear-gas but had been reduced by the robbers. Bruce fixed his attention in a young girl who seemed to be lucid but was desperately trying to calm down her mother, who was hysteric and short of making mad one goon in particular that looked about to shoot her.

He didn’t know if Superman saw that or not, because he simply barged in without a plan, attracting the attention of other four criminals who hurried to spray him with fear-gas that shouldn’t have worked on him but somehow did. Not in full force, no. He didn’t panic, didn’t seem to hallucinate either, but it slowed him down, it disoriented him, and it meant Bruce had to hurry and do something about the girl who was still trying to calm down her mother to keep them alive. Since he wasn’t carrying any antidotes, his best shot was to distract the goon that hadn’t been distracted by Superman, who was fighting five or so at the same time with punches that could still send them flying but were slow enough to give them openings to throw their own punches. He was still winning, but it was worrying that Scarecrow had thought to create something to deal with Superman. Or maybe worrying wasn’t the word. Apparently, the villains in his city had already decided he was part of a team, even if he hadn’t.

He managed to take the gun out of the man before he started shooting, but a second guy went after the girl and when he covered her, a third pointed a gun at his head while the first recovered and trapped the terrified woman.

Bruce took a deep breath, studying the way they handled themselves, figuring out the most efficient course of action while allowing them to handcuff him. He was calm and knew exactly what he needed to do to take care of the three without scaring the woman nor the girl even further.

“Rob!” shouted Superman, who only had two guys left. “Rob, hang on, I…”

Before Superman was done saying how he would save him, Bruce had saved himself, kicking one attacker over the other one. “I can take care of myself, Superman,” he elbowed the one that was left, kicked his gun away and then kicked him on the head, effectively knocking him off. “Go help over there!” he used the girl’s hairpin to get out of the handcuffs. There was still no trace of Scarecrow, the attackers were apparently all down, but the hostages were still panicking, making chaos.

“I could take you outside first, I…”

“Superman, I mean it.” He gave him a meaningful look, not knowing what Clark would infer from it, but it worked. He left him alone. He seemed to catch a trace of Scarecrow and went after him, while Bruce waited for the police to appear with an antidote. He borrowed a victim’s phone to inform Gordon about the possible small amount of kryptonite on the new version of the fear-gas and waited until he saw they were taking action about it to leave the scene, trusting in Leslie to figure it out. He had heard on the radio that Superman had dropped Scarecrow at Arkham.

He considered leaving for the cave then, go and try to deliver and antidote he knew they wouldn’t need. The last antidote was apparently working, if not helping with the kryptonite poisoning, and he knew Superman would come looking for him soon enough.

He wasn’t sure if waiting in Rob’s apartment or the cave would make any difference now.

Still, he went to Rob’s apartment and drank three glasses of water before there was a knock on his window. The balcony was small, and Bruce tried to think that was the reason Superman looked so angry.

“You’re keeping something from me, aren’t you?”

Bruce gulped, and felt something inside of him—was that hope? —break.

“I always thought that those were too many scars for a cop.”

“Clark…”

“But why didn’t you tell me you were Batman? No, don’t answer that.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Clark’s expression turned troubled. “I thought…” he shook his head, “I’m sorry, I just don’t think I know you anymore.” The laughter that escaped him resembled more of a sob, especially with his hunched shoulders, and all in all, the man of steel made a pitiful picture, like a moth trapped by a bathtub without an open window; all huge and intimidating but condemned to drown by his own foolishness. “I’m sorry you couldn’t trust me enough.”

“No! That’s not it, Clark, I swear…”

“How could I ever believe you, Rob? You lie so easily…” he shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who could lie like that. I’m impressed.”

Bruce wondered if he would get even more impressed if he took off his wig and lenses. Probably not. If he did that, he would probably just loathe him as much as Bruce currently loathed himself.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” He threw his head back, concentrating on the ceiling, and for a moment, Bruce wondered if he was just staring at something. It took him a moment to realize he was just concealing his tears. “I’m sorry you didn’t love me as much as I loved you.”

“But I do love you.” His voice almost broke, but he did his best to swallow down the lump on his throat. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“You don’t want it to make sense because I’m not the person you thought I was and being angry is easier. But admit it. I’m not exactly what I was selling.”

“Rob—”

“That’s not even my real name.”

Superman stared at him in unconcealed shock, silent for a heartbeat. “And you’re not a cop either, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“How am I supposed to believe you fell for me when you clearly think I’m an idiot? No, don’t answer that. I’m just… I’m just going to go, Batman.”

Bruce nodded. “Goodbye, Superman.”

Superman left.

He left because he couldn’t stand looking into Rob’s face while talking to Batman, because the man that had been there, hardly trying to justify himself, didn’t even talk the way Rob did, and he couldn’t handle it. He didn’t know why he went to him right after the menace had been neutralized. He should’ve waited. He should’ve taken some time to calm down and clear his head and think about the discovery. Maybe if he would’ve done that, their conversation wouldn’t have gone the way it did. Maybe he would’ve listened more, maybe he would’ve tried to understand.

Maybe things would have been different, if he hadn’t left the way he did, at the time he did.

Clark never saw Rob again after that.

Clark never saw Rob again after that, which just didn’t make any sense, because he searched for him _everywhere_. But Batman said that that wasn’t even his real name, and like an idiot, Clark hadn’t asked what his real name was. All he had was a voice and a heartbeat, which he could get a glimpse of, from time to time, but never for long enough to find it. There was no trace of those brown eyes that could tell so many stories, or that brown hair so soft to the touch. He avoided seeing him as Batman at all costs, and in those times that he had no other choice, he tried to think that he was a different person altogether, and sometimes he succeeded. Sometimes he managed to imagine that the face underneath the cowl had nothing to do with the man he had ravished so many times. He managed to imagine that the skin of his jaw appeared to be smoother, somehow. But only sometimes. When he wasn’t as lucky, he spent half the mission trying to keep his mouth shut.

Still, he kept searching for Rob, when he could. And he kept searching because he couldn’t help to imagine how things might have gone if only Rob had told him earlier. And he kept searching, because he wanted to hear an apology once again, if not because he deserved it, but because he craved to grant that forgiveness if it meant he could have some peace. He never went as far to search through Gotham though, not when there existed a risk of running into Batman. He could only do it from a distance, trying to catch Rob’s voice somewhere, but he had vanished.

When he finally got an excuse for Clark Kent to enter the city without having to admit he was out there looking for him, his own heart raced like other’s did after running a marathon.

It was a simple job. He just had to cover a charity ball in Wayne Manor, get a few statements, and hopefully get some information about the new deal Wayne Enterprises was signing with Luthor, although not even Perry had any expectations regarding that. When it came to business, interviews with Bruce Wayne were hard to get, and often fruitless. But he would try, and then he would get conveniently lost on his way to the hotel, and he would search for Rob everywhere. He had to be there, somewhere, and Clark would find him. He wasn’t sure what he would do once he did, but finding him was his priority, right after getting a few intelligent words from Wayne. He just hoped it wouldn’t be as difficult as it sounded.

He’d never been to Wayne Manor before, but he’d hanged out with billionaires and thought he’d be prepared for it. He wasn’t. But he did his best to hide his awe and was a little relieved that he clearly wasn’t the only one impressed by not only the dimensions of the building, but by the tasteful decorations and the pleasant music and the delicious looking banquet; the man in the center of it all looking just as extraordinary. Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham, was the man everyone wanted to talk to. Clark couldn’t possibly imagine why. He’d read enough interviews to know he couldn’t have much to say. But he was one of those poor fuckers who was going to have to beg for a word, so he stopped that train of thought and tried to make his way there with a smile. It wasn’t easy. There always seemed to be a crowd around the man. But eventually he got there, less than a feet away from him, ready to catch his attention and hopefully hold it for a few minutes.

Wayne gave him an odd stare, definitely more intense than what he’d been expecting. Clark cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up using his middle finger. “Mr. Wayne, I’m Clark Kent, from the _Daily_ _Planet_ , and I was wondering if you could answer a few questions about your new association with _LexCorp_.”

“I’d love to, but it will have to be some other time. Maybe…” he glanced around the ballroom quickly, “if you could wait after most of the guests went home?”

Clark hadn’t been expecting that, mostly because for anyone outside of Gotham getting an interview with Bruce Wayne regarding business was almost impossible, and also because there was something about his voice that made him uneasy. Besides, the guy’s heartrate seemed to indicate that he was agitated, and yet he looked perfectly calm. It was probably drugs, but he still worried. He nodded. “Of course. I’ll wait. Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

And there was that odd stare again, but the guy left him and seemed to forget all about him as he laughed with a big crowd of rich people. Thus, so did Clark. He had time to kill, so he went around the ballroom getting empty statements and eating way more than what any guest should, until people finally started to leave. He felt awkward staying behind and kept expecting someone would approach him to kick him out, until the host himself went to meet him.

“Mr. Wayne,” he nodded, as politely and professional as he could manage. He wasn’t tired, just oddly jittery.

“You waited.”

The man seemed genuinely surprised by the fact, as if he didn’t know that any reporter in his place would have waited through a terrorist attack just to get a chance to talk to him.

“Yes, I told you I would, didn’t I? Did you change your mind? I understand if you…”

Wayne interrupted him, but when he did, he didn’t sound like Wayne at all. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

Clark would be damned. He was speechless and openmouthed.

“If you still want that interview, I’ll give it to you, but I can’t tell you much. I’m not even supposed to know much about it. But I can tell you, off the record, that I’m doing it to try to tie his hands and legally forbid him to weaponize one power source he designed. It’s tricky, and it won’t stop him from eventually using it against you, but at least he might actually go to jail after that.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Wayne gave him a rueful smile. “I’m not going to lie, I considered, for about five seconds, to not say anything at all if you hadn’t noticed. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why would that be? Because I love you, of course. Come on. If you still want that interview I’m going to need a drink.”

Clark followed him before he could change his mind, because he needed that interview, and because he wanted to hear what Batman had to say about that power source that Luthor may use against him in the future. But it was weird, whatever they were doing. Clark wasn’t sure _who_ he was talking to, at all. Because the man sitting by his side wasn’t Batman. Batman was more shadow than man, always lurking in the dark, with a low voice that got distorted by a mic, and very short phrases. Then Bruce Wayne, who was clearly just another character, had a higher-pitched voice, rarely used big words, and laughed a lot, looking like he never worried, and that most certainly wasn’t the man next to him. And Rob? Well, for starters, Rob was physically different—different eyes, different hair, even a different skin. A part of Clark still believed this was some sort of trick. But he had Rob’s voice, and Rob’s heartbeat, even though he didn’t sound like Rob, not entirely. It was similar, just not the same. For example, Rob had an accent. A very strong Jersey’s accent, but Bruce spoke like the rich man he was. He was, after all, a rich kid raised by a British man, and even if he grew in New Jersey, he went to a private school with other rich kids, and he sounded accordingly, if only more eloquent than your average trust fund boy.

“Thank you for that interview, my editor will love it.”

“I’m happy to help.”

“Bruce?” He made the mistake of staring into the man’s eyes as he turned to look at him inquiringly, and the air got stuck in his lungs. He didn’t need oxygen that much, but he still liked breathing, and yet he couldn’t do it with those intense blue eyes digging into his soul.

Even with a different color, those were Rob’s eyes.

The question had left his mouth before his brain knew what was happening. “Would you like having dinner one of these days?”

Now Bruce’s face was the definition of astonishment. “Like on a date?”

A date. With the man that had fooled him like he did? It sounded ludicrous. And yet Clark caught himself nodding.

“I would like that,” said Bruce, features still remarkably expressive. “Is tomorrow okay? I know just the place.”

“Sure. Just text me the address.”

“Okay.”

Bruce watched Clark go, and for a moment, he thought it was a pity they didn’t kiss goodbye. Then he seemed to come to himself and realized the impossibility of the situation. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, alone under the chandelier of the big ballroom, under Alfred’s incredulous gaze. He had to think fast, to come up with a plan for the perfect evening, the perfect apology and the perfect seduction.

He had fucked up already, and he wouldn’t do it again.

“Would you like some advice, sir?” asked Alfred, about twenty hours later.

Bruce sighed and hummed his affirmation without tearing his eyes away from the mirror while he adjusted his tie. “Yes, please. That would be very much appreciated.”

“Keep it honest.”

His fingers stopped moving for a moment. “That’s it?”

“Forgive me, I had forgotten that was your specialty, sir,” replied Alfred, who probably should change his middle name to ‘sass master’ or something among those lines.

“Now, that’s not fair. I know that lying was what ruined everything the last time. I’m not going to lie again.”

“You know that’s what you have to do, in theory, but have no experience on it. It’s not as simple as it sounds.”

“It _doesn’t_ sound simple, Alfred. But I’m not going to screw this. I’m not.”

Alfred’s smile was both encouraging and unapologetic. He stood closer and very briefly squeezed his shoulder, tenderly. “Very well, sir. I’m glad. Have a nice evening.”

“Thanks,” he muttered softly, knowing Alfred would understand what he meant.

They were having dinner in Bruce’s yacht, because if he was going to go out with someone who was aware of him being a vigilante _and_ a billionaire, he was going to do it with all the extravagance and secrecy both statuses granted him.

“This food is great,” commented Clark, who looked ridiculously nervous. He wasn’t dressed as the investigative reporter or as the farm boy or as the hero. His suit fitted, and his glasses weren’t there, but his hair was Kent’s, and so was his smile.

“Yeah, my…” he stopped, because he had decided to be honest. Full disclosure, like Clark would do. “Alfred made it.”

“Your butler.”

“My friend. He… raised me. And also happens to be great at stitching me up.”

“Oh,” he blinked. “I see.”

“He… strongly advised me to tell you the truth since the beginning and is now very satisfied that this is happening. His food is always this good though.”

“I’m sure… so…” he moved a piece of chopped meat with his fork around his plate, “he likes me?”

“He doesn’t know you.”

Clark narrowed his eyes, inspecting Bruce’s closed off expression. “But he does.”

Bruce shrugged one shoulder. “I guess he doesn’t dislike you.”

Clark grinned. “He likes me.”

Bruce shook his head, not wanting to ask why that was so important. It wouldn’t be, if Clark didn’t intend to stick around. But he still didn’t dare to ask. He started the night buzzling with energy but without enough courage to do half the things he craved to do. It felt wonderful to be near Clark again, to hear his laughter again, to see him smile. And if that would be all for a while, it would be okay. It would be enough. It had to be enough.

Of course, he wouldn’t say no if it was Clark the one initiating contact.

He had thought Clark might want to take things slow, and for the first half of the evening, everything pointed that way. Clark spoke of boundaries and confidence and growing back their trust, talking about time and space and something about watering their relationship so it could be healthy, but as soon as they were done with dessert, Clark’s cocky smile was all Bruce needed to see to know where their night was going, and that was all his dick needed to stir in his pants. There, offshore, they had the night for themselves and finally all masks had been taken off already.

Never before had they been so hungry for each other. Never before then had they been so insatiable. The kisses quickly turned to sucking bites, the soft caresses were impossibly tight grips, and not an inch of skin was left untouched. Like they couldn’t get enough of each other. And to be honest, Bruce hoped they never would. He hoped that feeling would never go away. Not the rush, the franticness, the passion, but the need to be closer, the crave to be together, to share the same air and heat and just exist together. That, he hoped would last forever.

They spent the night in that yacht, by the sea and the stars, intertwining first times with fifths and tenths, the lines blurred between what was a new beginning and what felt like pressing the play button after a long break. It was a night full of truths, for once, and they were way prettier than all the lies Bruce had told in the past.

Still, the best part about it all was the next morning, when he woke up next to Clark, especially because that was a sight he thought would never see again.

“I never knew beds could be this soft,” mumbled Clark, after barely opening his eyes.

Bruce snorted, straightening a little, leaning back against the headboard. “I got to admit… I seriously considered getting another one for the cover apartment I was using after you first came. I never thought to get a better one before, but I should have.”

“Yeah,” he yawned, “that one sucked.”

“Hey, the one you have in Metropolis isn’t any better.”

“Shut up. Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t. In fact, I’m going to get you a better one for your birthday.”

Clark twisted slightly so he could stare at Bruce with arched eyebrows. “You know when my birthday is?”

“Of course I know when your birthday is. I’m Batman.”

**Author's Note:**

> So? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know, and you'll make my whole week brighter!


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